Gray ran his fingers through his hair while he walked the length of his pavilion. Seated on folding stools, Arthur and Lucien were talking quietly while Imad prepared a late serving of wine and bread. Arthur’s voice rose in distress, to be quieted by Lucien’s soothing tones. Knowing the brothers’ past, Gray hadn’t expected his cousin to regret Edmund’s death, but Arthur seemed genuinely grieved. Perhaps he sorrowed more for what he wished his brother had been than for what he really was. And perhaps God had blessed the Strange family by replacing the older with the younger. Or perhaps Satan had taken one of his own to hell. Whatever the case, there were mundane tasks to be performed. Edmund’s body had been moved. He would be buried quickly, tomorrow night, before the corpse could decay further. No time for ceremony, no time to bring the rest of the family here. His funeral would be as irregular as his character. He should have been distressed for his aunt, Edmund’s mother.
